


I may be loose (I'm not a cannon)

by astudyinsolitude (taylormicky)



Series: Stucky Drabbles & Tumblr Prompts [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Depression, M/M, attempted suicide, this is just pure angst guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 21:20:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6210496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylormicky/pseuds/astudyinsolitude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When everything gets too much for Steve to bear, Sam is there to catch him when he shatters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I may be loose (I'm not a cannon)

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the tags - everyone's okay at the end, but this isn't a light-reading story. Know your limits, and please don't read if this might be triggering for you.
> 
> Title comes from Luke Sital-Singh's ["Bottled Up Tight"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9GDFbVssI4c)

Sam stumbled into the kitchen, the familiar still form sitting solid and stoic at the table yet another reminder of how long they’d been running, been chasing, with absolutely nothing to show for it.

Sam was staring at a shell, and he knew, he knew this was the last night he could spend watching Steve waste away on this rabbit chase, watch him delude himself because they both knew they would never catch the Soldier - catch Bucky - until the man was ready to come in. And yet Steve still threw himself on the grenade every damn day, running through the motions on marionette strings, researching and tracking and always 10 steps behind and always, _always_ , too late.

And Sam couldn’t let Steve lie to himself any longer, that they could ever make a difference in this chase. That Steve’s presence would somehow convince the Soldier to come in from the cold, when they both knew that Bucky would be a ghost to them, destroying base after Hydra base with only the rubble as proof that he had been there, until Bucky decided his self-imposed mission was over.

So, tonight would be the last night he stayed here and felt his heart break a little more every day at the desperation that threaded thick and pungent through each time Steve shrugged his duffle onto his shoulders, preparing to move on to the next destroyed location, always straining for a non-existent clue as to why Bucky kept pushing, forward, forward, and never letting Steve be there for support, for backup.

The irony was bitter, that Steve craved so much to be there for Bucky when he always refused the same support from his team. It hurt, to see the desperation and yet the continual refusal of any help, as Steve barricaded himself inside his own mind as if keeping bloody wounds to himself somehow made everyone else stop aching for the fact that they were there.

And still, Sam offered, silently, his presence and his help, as he did every restless night, sluggish as he made up mugs of hot chocolate from the packets he dragged along to each new location they stayed. Because Sam remembered his own times of long, sleepless, lonely nights, and he did what he could to dull the edge so that Steve didn’t always suffer through them alone.

He always made two mugs, on these nights, and always, Steve simply cradled the warmth in hands but never drank. It was okay, because sometimes it was enough to just be warm, and sometimes it was too much to taste the bitter sweetness of the powdered chocolate, and sometimes Sam ended up dumping two mugs into the sink, full and stone cold. Sometimes, the burn of the drink in his throat was all that kept him from shattering as he did his best to hold both of them together on this hopeless journey, as it wore down on Sam just as much as it wore down on Steve.

Most nights, they just sat there, Steve cradling his untouched mug and Sam, drinking or not depending on the day, just silently drawing strength from each other’s presence. Some nights, when the silence was too stifling, Sam would tell stories of his days in the Air Force, the antics his buddies would get up to. Idle memories, without weight or sadness, just leaves blowing through the landscape of time, to be glanced after and forgotten. Steve never reacted, never changed, when Sam would tell these stories. But his eyes looked a little less vacant, the next morning, and he would ask questions about them on the good days, when the crushing hopelessness of their task was a bit lighter and they could joke a bit about their past in idle conversation to pass the time.

As Sam placed the mug in front of Steve, watched his fingers reach out and grasp even as Steve’s face held the same lost, far-away gaze as every evening, Sam knew that this had gone on for long enough, and they would pick their way out tomorrow and stumble home to wait because this fruitless chase was wearing too hard on them both.

Sam would never know, in the end, if something in the way he settled into his chair - some sort of resignation - had caught Steve’s attention, had broadcast Sam’s weariness, or if Steve was just so weary himself that he finally was too tired to hold himself together all alone, and reached out because he couldn’t stop himself any longer.

Sam would never know, in the end, why Steve chose this night in particular to be the night he finally spoke. But Sam had offered, time and time again, and he was so very glad to hear Steve’s voice, worn and tired but _here_ , finally letting someone in.

“When Bucky fell from the train,” Steve started, face blank and eyes focused on the past, “and I wasn’t close enough, wasn’t strong enough to save him, I might as well have just followed him down because my heart died with him. He was there for me, my whole life, when we only had each other and the world sure as hell wasn’t gonna go easy on us but we had each other and it was _okay_. And then suddenly it wasn’t, because he was gone and he was everything, he was the only family I had and he was the only person that mattered, and he was _gone_. And I couldn’t forgive myself for that, even when I knew, logically, that there wasn’t anything I coulda done to save him - I very nearly fell off that train as it was, but I still couldn’t shake the guilt that I shoulda tried harder, shoulda _known_ that something was gonna happen, shoulda done _somethin_ ’ to save him somehow.

“So, when it came time to put the Valkyrie into the water, I didn’t hesitate. I was glad that I could do one last thing, to save this city where Buck an’ I grew up, since I couldn’t save the man himself. And, I don’t know whether I could’ve escaped, could’ve tried to pry open one of the doors and swim for shore or until rescue came. I don’t know if I would’ve been stronger than the pressure of the water as the plane sank in the Arctic. I just... I didn’t care.”

Steve looked up, haunted eyes not quite meeting Sam’s. “I didn’t even try to get off the Valkyrie, because I was so ready to just be done. I’d done my duty to this country and all I’d done was got my best friend killed and I was just ready to be _done_. So I put the plane in the water, and I sat in that goddamn chair as the freezing water rushed in, as it sunk and the light didn’t reach and I waited until, finally, my vision blurred and the torment was over. It took a while the serum made it so I can hold my breath for a real long time, now, but I never tried gasping in water. I think there was some part of me that wanted to draw it out, as if sitting in that cockpit was some sort of penance for not being able to save Bucky. So I sat there, for minutes, just hearing the water bubble around me, as the light got faint as we sunk until finally I passed out from not getting any oxygen. And I thought, finally, this was it, it’s done.”

Steve took in shaky, unsteady breaths, terror dancing behind his eyes as he relived what he had thought then was his death, and Sam was anguished at how much Steve had kept bottled up, eating him alive.

Eventually, Steve settled, but his composure was cracked as he continued. “But it turns out I wasn’t goddamn done after all, because the serum wouldn’t even let me die right. So I wake up, 70 years later in a world I don’t understand, fight aliens from another dimension, and just when I don’t think it can get any more bizarre, I find out that Bucky didn’t even goddamn die either, that Hydra’d gone and twisted him until he couldn’t even remember his own goddamn name. So, not only did I not save him on that train, not only did I not go looking for his body, I went and died and left him with those bastards for _70 goddamn years_.

“And it gets to be so much, sometimes, like the world is clawing its way up my throat and burning fire in my veins - anger and anguish and destruction because _I wasn’t good enough to protect him_. It’s just so, so much, sometimes.”

And Steve finally looks up at him, now, staring straight into Sam’s eyes with ice-cold intent. “But at least then, I had something to fight against. I could wage war with the anger, suppress it or use it but there was something to _do_.

“But the worst part,” and here the mask finally crumbles, and Steve looks stripped raw and his voice cracks a bit when he continues, “the worst part is when I feel nothing at all. When I wish for the anger, for the guilt even, to feel _something_ , but I just feel hollowed out and empty. The apathy is what terrifies me the most, because I don’t know how to fight it, Sam. It’s like I’m dying of thirst and someone puts water right in front of me, and I _know_ all I gotta do is reach out and drink it, but it’s like I can’t even bring myself to care. I just sit there and stare at it as I’m dying and it’s so _terrifying_ because nothing matters, and at least I can _do_ something with anger. I can’t do anything about the empty space in my chest where my heart is supposed to be.”

Steve’s eyes were shining with unshed tears as stared down into the mug in his hands, head shaking slowly. “I thought that I could save him, Sam, if I could just follow him, make him see that we can _help_. But he doesn’t want help and he doesn’t want me, not right now, and I don’t think I can keep doing this. I’m following this trail hoping for breadcrumbs, and every time we miss him it’s like I lose a bit more of my strength to keep chasing after him. I’m terrified that I’m gonna lose myself before we ever come close to him, Sam.”

Sam watched as, finally, one tear spilled over as Steve looked away, jaw clenched, and Sam couldn’t just sit there and watch as Steve was cracking in front of him. Heart aching, Sam got up and stood in front of Steve’s chair, wrapping him in his arms and pulling Steve’s head to his shoulder, holding him tight as Steve shattered in his arms.

Even in this, Steve was stoic, crying almost silently, and Sam’s heart was breaking to see the way Steve held in the sobs that wanted to wrack his body, the only evidence of Steve’s breakdown an almost imperceptible keening sound and the wet, unsteady breaths Sam could feel as he soothed his hand over Steve’s back.

Sam blinked away tears of his own as he stood strong, an anchor as he held fast when Steve could hold himself up no longer, and Sam didn’t offer any trite words, just silent steadiness as Steve let himself go until he could put himself back together.

It was a while before Steve’s grief had run it’s course, before his breath evened out and only minute shudders remained. Sam spoke softly, barely disturbing the air.

“Did he know you loved him?”

Steve body tightened instantly under Sam’s hands, so he shushed Steve softly and rubbed soothingly against Steve’s back. “I know times were different, then, but it’s plain as day that you were gone for him. My question is, did you ever tell him?”

Steve’s head shook softly against Sam’s shoulder. “You’re right that times were different then; we never actually said actually said anything, but...” Steve shrugged broad shoulders and straightened, pulling away from Sam and rubbing at his face. “We both knew, we both wished that things were different, but we couldn’t - ”

Steve broke off, gathering his thoughts before continuing, hesitantly. “There were a few stolen kisses, after close calls or hard battles, but we couldn’t afford to do anything more, we couldn’t afford to get caught. The best nights were when it was cold enough that the Commandos would all pile together to share body heat, and nobody would question that I’d hold him close. That was all we had, and it wasn’t enough but we made it _be_ enough and I haven’t - ”

Sam finished for him, when Steve got too choked up to continue, “- you haven’t really gotten over losing that closeness. And, knowing your propensity for shouldering every problem on your own, I’m guessing this was the first real hug you’ve gotten since you were defrosted, at least.” Sam flashed a wry grin at Steve’s rueful nod. “It’s no wonder you’ve been struggling, man, anyone would be lost trying to get used to this crazy-ass century while mourning the one person who’d ever been there to make it easier, and you’ve been hiding yourself away where nobody can help.”

Sam sighed, so infinitely glad that Steve was finally admitting to his struggles, finally accepting the support that he needed. It would be hard for Steve to let people in, but the first step was already taken and it would only get easier from here.

“I know what it’s like, to lose the man that was your other half - ” Sam had told a lot of stories about his wingman, Riley, and most everyone knew now that they had been a couple. It was too little too late, in Sam’s opinion - they might not have got beat up for it like they did in the 40s, but Don’t Ask Don’t Tell had still made their lives miserable - but he was glad that at least now he could share his story, even though Riley wasn’t alive to share it with him. “ - and while I can’t tell you that everything’s gonna be peachy keen, I can tell you that you’ve got a second chance at this, a second chance that not a lot of people get. But you’re doing nobody any good wasting away chasing a ghost that ain’t ready to come home yet.”

Steve nodded slowly, resigned. “I know, Sam. It’s time we go home, let Bucky work through what he needs and make sure everything’s set up for when he’s ready to come in. I want to stay here, searching for him,” and Steve looked so torn, having to make the tough call, “but it’s time to let him be, for now, and take care of ourselves.”

“I’m proud of you, man,” Sam said. “I know it’s hard to leave him but he obviously needs to do his own thing right now. You need to focus on yourself right now, and we’re all here to help. We’ll head home in the morning and let the team prep for Bucky’s arrival when he’s ready.” Sam grasped Steve’s slumped shoulder, comfort and companionship in the gesture.

Steve looked worn out, after baring his soul and crying his heart out, and Sam didn’t want Steve to have to pull himself together alone.

“Do you trust me?” Sam asked, and Steve gave a puzzled affirmation at the odd question. “Science says that your body will be more relaxed when you cuddle with someone due to the release of oxytocin, which counteracts the cortisol released in a stressful situation. You were used to dog-piling it with the Commandos and then suddenly you weren’t able to do that anymore - so, tonight we’re gonna dog-pile on the floor like the old days.”

Steve looked unsure about this plan but that wasn’t going to deter Sam. “Come one, go wash your face, you look like Clint after he runs into a doorway,” and that got a chuckle out of Steve, finally. “As your unofficial therapist, I can make this an order, so let’s go - chop chop!”

Steve was laughing softly, releasing the tension in the air as Sam herded him up and out of the kitchen, and Sam counted that as a definite win after such a difficult night.

Before long, they were both stretched out on the floor next to the improbably small bed that really wouldn’t have fit either of them anyway, and maybe Steve would actually get some sleep this way. Sam waived off Steve’s token protests, and the awkwardness faded once Steve finally relaxed against Sam’s chest. And when Steve finally dozed off a few minutes later, well - Sam definitely called this plan a win.

It wasn’t going to be easy, putting Steve back together. He knew it was going to be hard, even once Bucky finally came in, for Steve to let people help him. But hopefully, as they continued to offer, Steve would continue to let down some of the walls he’d built to protect himself that were keeping him from healing.

But tonight - they’d done enough, for tonight, and Sam drifted off knowing that it might not be okay right now, but they were going to get there, eventually.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit my [tumblr](http://www.astudyinsolitude.tumblr.com) and cry with me over the feels!


End file.
